His parents would be glad to know that their son had moved to New York and taken up with a black girl.
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You know, I don’t think I’ve met a person from the Bay Area who I liked. I could tell he’d had a middle-class upbringing from a place like the Bay Area. God, I’d hate to be in his fiction workshop. He had the hipster look to him, greasy long hair and a beard, like he might write poetry or song lyrics. One time I saw her holding hands with a white boy, who was a little bit handsome when I crossed my eyes, but mostly ugly. She was always with some little white girl, all of them in crop tops and the other dumb clothes hipsters wear. I’d seen her around a few times, but each time she didn’t seem to remember meeting me. I met Cecilia for the second time during our sophomore year. My mother couldn’t afford to pay for the dormitory and a loan was out of the question since I lived an hour away, so I went to my classes and then I went home. My first year, I overheard my classmates’ excitement about the city, the things they had done, the people they had slept with, and when I wasn’t rolling my eyes, I envied that they were having more fun than me. The thing about attending university in New York City is that so many of my classmates think that New York is heaven, or close enough, or maybe it’s hell depending on how you see things. When I am walking out of the living room, she says, "You know dis site nuh easy? It just encourage people fi fass inna people business." I don’t respond to her, but I almost smile. "You and her will mek up back," she tells me, with such conviction that for a moment I believe her. My mother only recently discovered social media, and is obsessed because it allows her to reacquaint herself with people she knew back in Jamaica. When I tell my mother that Cecilia and I are no longer friends, she doesn’t lift her face from her Facebook account.
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I’d overheard the white girl introduce Cecilia to someone as her roommate. That day, Cecilia left the orientation room with a white girl, the both of them cracking up at what seemed to be the funniest joke of the year.
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We might have been invisible to everyone else but we weren’t invisible to each other. Up until that moment, all of my experiences with black people in a sea of white faces was that we acknowledged each other, whether it was by eye contact or a smile, and that we would eventually make it across the room to each other. I might as well have been talking to a white boy.
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"The Bay Area," she told me, and it was clear that she wasn’t particularly interested in me, that although we were black women, that was neither here nor there. This was the only question I could think to ask her.
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I could forgive her for this, as I was crowned an Oreo in high school because I liked spending my free period with my hands in clay in the ceramics classroom and I liked listening to the kind of music played in coffee shops in the city.īut then I could tell that Cecilia was an Oreo who really might have forgotten the color of her skin, because when the group was dismissed, I walked up to her to ask which part of California she was from. But Cecilia isn’t the kind of name that brings to mind a black girl, and that day when she spoke, telling us that she was from California, her voice reminded me of all those blonde white girls on reality television, confirming that, as I suspected, she was a white girl trapped in a black girl’s body - an Oreo. In that song "Power," when Kanye West raps, "Ma’fucka’, we rollin’ with some light-skinned girls and some Kelly Rowlands," he is talking about dark-skinned girls who look like Cecilia. When it came to Cecilia’s turn, I had already memorized her name from the name tag, and carefully, without bringing attention to myself, took her in: flawless dark skin, silky relaxed hair that reached her breasts, tall, thin, beautiful. We were sitting in a circle while the junior leading our group was answering questions anyone had, and then we each had to say our name and where we were from. The first time I saw Cecilia, she was the only other black girl in our small group during freshman orientation.